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Photograph
Remember who you are. Prompt In her hand, she holds a tattered photo. She doesn’t know who she is, or what’s going on. She can hardly remember her own name. But the photograph is there. And sometimes, it holds all the answers. Photograph Wind blew through the city streets, and onto her neck. She breathes, and lets the wind capture her. Truthfully, she’s confused. She woke up in a dark room, with a photo. She doesn’t really know who she is. But the photo seems important. It’s a picture of a lady. The lady looks familiar, but she can’t quite place where she’s seen her before. On the back on the photo, there is a name, written in blue ink. She thinks it’s the name of the lady. She hopes she’s right. ~ As she walks the city streets, a lamp will turn on, every now an again. More signs that evening is settling. She tugs on her purple beanie, and covers her ears. The windy chill is starting to get to her. She wonders who she is. She thinks she knows her name, but truth be told, she’s not really sure. She’s afraid to say her name, because she fears she’ll lose it. Night falls, and her hands find the pocket in her hoodie. Her blonde hair has been tied up in a messy braid, and now, she’s beginning to shiver. It’s cold, and she doesn’t know where she’ll go. All the has are the clothes on her back. And the photo, of course. There’s one more thing written on the photo. It’s a message, in a feather untidy scrawl. She’s back home. She thinks the lady in the photo must be home. It was probably a cue, from when her memory was fine, but it doesn’t help her now. Maybe is was vague to stop people from noticing it. When darkness surrounds, she stops, and takes shelter, under an old tent. From there, a small light shines in, and she takes a good look at the photo. The lady is smiling gently, and she looks happy. Her hair only reaches her chin, but it looks nice that way. The lady’s hair also happens to be blue. There is no real explanation for this. The photo is tattered but recent. It’s ripped right in half, and it appears the lady was holding someone’s hand. She can see a shoulder, but no real cues. Eventually, she stuffs the photo back in her pocket. She’ll investigate tomorrow. ~ Tomorrow comes, and she is still no closer to understanding. As she walks, she stops random people, asking if they know the lady. Some say no, others refuse to speak outright. Nobody knows the blue-haired lady, and it’s beginning to bother her. Blue hair isn’t super common, and she assumed she’d get at least one response. But it’s almost evening, when an older man finally points out her destination. “Urm… well my dear… It’s the days of my youth, like the scent of fresh lemon, you see?” She doesn’t see, but the man points her in the direction of the Prosecutor’s Office. She enters, and luckily, the secretary doesn’t notice her. She looks like a hobo anyway. She follows the name plates on the doors, until she reaches the name she’s looking for. It’s the 10th floor, and she’s been looking for a long time. She knocks, and there is a curt, “Come in.” She opens the door, and she instantly recognizes the lady in the photo. Blue hair and everything. She closes the door behind her, and sits down. The blue haired lady looks up from her work. “Guten Abend. May I-“ She breaks off, and takes another look at her. She reaches into her pocket, and pulls out the tattered photo, “Franziska von Karma, I presume?” Franziska takes the photo, and looks at it, “Yes… How… What happened to you?” She sighs, “Lost my memory. All I have is that. But I was looking for you.” Franziska’s face softens, “You don’t remember anything? Not even your own identity.” “Afraid not.” She says. Truthfully, she doesn’t want to say, as she could be very wrong. Franziska mutters, “Foolish fools. Losing their foolishly foolish memories like only a foolish fool practicing foolery could.” She makes a note to get Franziska a thesaurus when she regains her memory. Franziska hands back the photo, “If you remember nothing… Then why were you looking for me?” She shrugs, “I had the photo. Looked like what I had to do. I dunno.” Franziska gets to her feet, and walks around the desk, to her other side, “So… you wouldn’t remember this then.” Before she can ask what’s going on, Franziska has kissed her on the lips. Her eyes sparkle, and suddenly, something clicks. “A-Adrian. Adrian Andrews.” Franziska smiles, so much like the photograph, and leans in to kiss her again. Adrian doesn’t stop her, as the memories finally come back. Franziska then presses a photo into her hand. It’s well worn, and Adrian realizes, it’s a picture of herself. It fits perfectly with the one she was carrying. “My bloody fool.” Franziska whispers, holding Adrian close. They tape the photo back in the morning. The End Category:Brighty's Stuff Category:Fanfictions Category:Ace Attorney Category:Non-Warriors Category:Fradrian Category:One-Shots Category:Finished Stories